Misbehaving with the Millionaire: The Millionaire's Misbehaving Mistress

Irritation at being interrupted midsentence was tempered by the compliment that she was the best. She was, darn it; it was about time somebody took note. But how did Nancy know? And who was Evie? Discretion? What kind of training did HarCorp need?

“The Hospital Benefit is less than three weeks away. It’s Evie’s ‘launch,’ so to speak.”

Confusion reigned. She knew exactly when the Med Ball was—it had been a major topic in one of her classes last week. But what did HarCorp have to do other than write a check? She cleared her throat, berating herself for not getting more details from Nancy that morning on the phone. “Mr. Harrison, Ms. Tucker didn’t provide any specific information about what kind of services HarCorp needed, so I’m afraid I’m a bit at a loss as to what you are talking about.”

Those black eyebrows shot up in surprise, but his computer pinged, and his attention moved to the screen. “Damn.” His fingers flew across the keyboard before responding. “Evie is my sister—my half sister, actually.”

Ah, the elusive Evangeline she’d read about. The society columns were buzzing with speculation… Oh, no. A bad feeling crept up her spine.

“She’s living with me now, and her manners are atrocious. I need you to teach her how to be a lady. That is what you do, correct?”

Please let me be wrong. Please. “You need social training for your sister?”

“Table manners. Polite conversation. How to behave at a party.” Another ping from the computer, and his eyes went immediately to the screen. “And she’ll need help with her wardrobe as well.”

Damn. Her heart sank as what was left of her hopes evaporated. HarCorp didn’t need her—another spoiled debutante did. Just to be sure, she asked, “And how old is Evie?”

“Fifteen.”

Gwen tried to keep her disappointment out of her voice. “Fifteen’s a bit young for debutante training, don’t you think? Surely you have a few more years before…”

That got his full attention. She trailed off as he pinned her with those hazel eyes, and his voice took on a sharp edge. “She’s not a debutante. She’s an heiress and a Harrison.” He said “Harrison” like it was a synonym for “royalty.” “Sadly, my father and stepmother didn’t see to it that Evie learn how to behave properly in public before they died. Evie needs someone to teach her, and she needs to know enough not to embarrass herself or the family at the Hospital Benefit. It’s pretty straightforward.”

This time, it was the phone on his desk that beeped, drawing his attention away again with only an offhanded “excuse me” as he answered it. Irritation bloomed again before she could help it. She dug her nails into her palm and bit her tongue. Good manners meant she couldn’t call him on his rudeness—and busy man or not, he was starting to really fray her Miss Behavior nerves.

Good manners also meant she shouldn’t eavesdrop on his conversation, and she needed a moment to think and regroup anyway.

She shouldn’t be upset that he wanted her to do social training—it was, after all, her primary source of income at the moment, and she was very good at it. Her pride was just a bit bruised because she’d come in with such high hopes for something else. She should agree to work with his sister…maybe some of the lessons would rub off on him.

That thought kindled her hopes again. Maybe, just maybe, this was the way into HarCorp. The back way in, granted, but she’d take what she could get. She’d work with the sister and hope that the brother would be so impressed he’d listen to her proposals for business training…

“Well, Miss Sawyer, what do you think?” Will’s attention was back on her, and she straightened her spine. Even with her irritation, she had to be impressed with how he could jump from one task to another and not lose track of either. Will steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his chair, one eyebrow raised in question.

“I’d be glad to work with your sister, Mr. Harrison, but three weeks is not a lot of time…”

“Exactly. You’ll need every spare minute with Evie.” He reached for a pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper before rounding the desk once again. This time, though, he leaned his hips back against it as he handed her the paper.

Dragging her thoughts from the long legs stretched out so close to her, she blinked and tried to focus on the bold scrawl.

An address in the elite Turtle Creek neighborhood.

“I’ve told the housekeeper, Mrs. Gray, to prepare the guest room. You can move your things in tonight and start with Evie tomorrow.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks at the thought, and she struggled to find words. “M-m-move in? Are you—I mean, that’s not—” She took a deep breath to calm the unprofessional stuttering caused by his presumptuous statement. “I have a business to run—other clients and responsibilities.” And the papers wouldhave a field day.

“Evie spends several hours a day with her tutors catching up on schoolwork. That would give you some time to take care of your other responsibilities. I’m quite willing to pay you for the inconvenience.”

She had to call on years of training not to react at the outrageous figure he mentioned. He was serious about this.

“And, as I said earlier, your discretion is essential.”

Discretion? For that amount of money he could silence Dallas Lifestyles’s gossip columnist.

She was younger than he’d expected. Prettier, too, in a wholesome girl-next-door kind of way. She lacked that brittle edge that often came with sophistication—a nice contrast from the women he was used to.

He’d been expecting a plump, gray-haired, grandmotherly type—or, at the very least, a Mary Poppins—if for no other reason he felt anyone calling herself an expert on anything should at least look old enough to drink. Miss Gwen Sawyer was neither plump nor grandmotherly and probably got carded on a regular basis. At the same time, she projected a kind of cool elegance that fascinated him and that Evie would benefit from learning.

She acted completely calm and professional, but he knew she wasn’t as detached as she looked. While Miss Sawyer was capable of keeping a good poker face, she couldn’t control those wide hazel eyes of hers that expressed each and every feeling the moment she had it. And she’d experienced several throughout their interview. Calculation, shock, confusion—she’d worked through them all. At least once, he’d even seen irritation there, but he wasn’t sure why. But something had thrown Gwen off her game very early on in the meeting, and it had taken a few minutes for her to regroup. He still hadn’t figured out what that had been about, either.

He expected the money to throw her off-guard. It was much more than such services could possibly cost, but it would assure she’d give Evie her full attention and keep her mouth closed to Tish Cotter-Hulme, the local society gossip columnist.

Gwen regained her balance much more quickly this time, covering her discomfort with cool politeness. Nice trick. Hopefully she could teach it to Evie.

“I couldn’t possibly move into your home.”

“Are you married?” He glanced down to where her fingers laced together in her lap. The white knuckles gave away her agitation as clearly as her eyes did, but from his position, he couldn’t see if she wore a ring or not.

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows flew toward her hairline in shock, and a flush stained her cheeks.

“Are you married? Do you have children or something?” Gwen took a deep breath before answering, and he realized he was a little too interested in her response.

“No, but—”

“Good.” He let out the breath he’d been holding. “I understand the request is a bit odd—” Gwen gave him a wonderful “you think?” look that would have been funny in a different situation, so he forged ahead before she could mount a stronger rejection of his offer. “But Evie’s still recovering from her mother’s death. She’s a little fragile at times and having a hard time adjusting. She needs someone who can give her undivided attention. It would be easier on her to have you there full-time.”

He could see Gwen softening.

She played with the pearls at her neck, calling his attention to the flush rising from the collar of her blouse. “I guess I could—”

“Excellent.”

Gwen took a deep breath, and her hand fell back to her lap. When she spoke, that cool professionalism was back. In a way he was disappointed; a slightly rattled Gwen was much more interesting.

“I’ll prepare a contract and fax it to your secretary this afternoon.”

“And I have a nondisclosure agreement that will require your signature as well. I don’t want Evie embarrassed or details of my private life shared with the papers.”

“Of course. I understand completely.” She stood, and he rose to his feet. Although he topped her by a good seven inches, she pushed her shoulders back and looked him squarely in the eye for the first time since he’d rattled her with his unorthodox proposal. “I’ll gather my things and be at your home tonight around six-thirty or so. Will that be acceptable?”

Her words caused a smile. He didn’t know much about etiquette, but Miss Sawyer would make one hell of an executive if she put her mind to it. He was looking forward to seeing her in action with Evie.

“That’ll be fine. I’ll tell Mrs. Gray to serve dinner around seven.”

She offered her hand. “I’ll see you then. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Harrison.”

“Call me Will.”

“And I’m Gwen. I’ll see you tonight.”